You Can Be King Again
by warrior of the nile
Summary: He takes a long look at himself in the mirror. Much better. Although almost anything would be better than he was before. And with his true return, it is time to begin making amends, beginning with his youngest. Hopefully he is not dead by the end of this conversation. His youngest is a bit... sensitive.


He takes a good, long look at himself in the mirror after he has finished. Yes, that's better. Although, from the point he was at, almost anything would have been an improvement. But now, he has returned to normal. Or, rather, almost normal he amends to himself as he takes note of his eyes.

A minor problem and not something he truly minds. They might even been considered an improvement. Much more regal and intimidating than his original chocolate brown. He smirks at his reflection, regarding it gravely. Yes, much better.

He turns away sharply, robes flaring around him in a dramatic fashion. The action makes him think of his youngest. He sprawls across his sofa, lost in thought. Out of all those who have suffered his loss of restraint and control, it is his youngest that had suffered the most. Another unnecessary casualty. He abhors waste of any kind, especially if he is the cause.

This will have to be the he first thing he remedies. Nor will it be a quick and simple fix. His youngest has always been wary. He stands on the end of being feral, for all his grace and intelligence. Wound him and he lashes out with the fierceness and desperation of a cornered animal.

Everything about him is fierce – from his loyalty to his cunning to his drive to survive. He would not have lived this long otherwise. But now that fierceness will surely be turned on him. For what fool would willingly have stood by him this last year? No, longer. Much longer, although he is loath to remember them, even in the safety of his own mind.

He could have lost everything to his drive and his arrogance. He did lose everything, for a time. It is by the mere grace of Merlin that he is restored this far. Grace and sheer bloody obstinate will. A will that refused to admit defeat, no matter the pain and cost. And there was quite a bit of pain involved in the process. The very thought makes him ache.

Everything had started out so simple. So easy. He was young and powerful and vicious. He knew what he wanted and no one was going to stand in his way. He gathered people to him that would help him in his quest for power and reform. To an outsider, to a fool – _the_ Fool – they were servants. Mere pawns to manipulate and discard as needed. Idiots.

His people, his Circle, was his family. A dysfunctional family, yes, but his. And he protected his own. He has never claimed to be good. Never bothered deluding himself in thinking he could be redeemable. But he wasn't evil. He had morals, he had standards. They were not what society would call acceptable, but he had them.

He was going to change the world with his family beside him. No one would stand in their way.

They say family doesn't play favorites, but that is a lie. They can and they will. And his youngest is by far his favorite. So many similarities. So much potential. He rescued him when no one else did. He rescued him like no one ever rescued himself.

He was the most loyal, the heir to the kingdom. He helped him reach his full potential, always pushing, always encouraging more. His fierce heir. A smirk plays at his lips just thinking of it. His glorious boy. He had always been a wonder to behold, even if so few people saw it.

But then came his arrogance and drive. Then came his obsession. He let his mind be clouded. He lost his vision in the high of his power. He lost more of his sanity than he could afford. He became something to fear, not someone to follow. Who followed a madman willingly? Who followed someone who hated and cursed rather than sneered?

He was an instrument to his own fall. He might as well have wielded the knife himself.

For long years he wandered, insane and incomplete. No one sought him out. When he returned, he blamed them. He cursed them. Cursed _him._ His body may have been back, but his mind was not.

Now it is. Now he sees clearly again. And now it is time to make amends. He closes his eyes and he Summons. It is in short order that his youngest arrives. He smirks. Always prompt. "Severus," he hisses more than speaks.

His youngest, his Potion Master, looks at him as he sits, still sprawled on the sofa. For no one else would he still be sitting as such, but for his most trusted family. For his heir, he is prepared to make amends for much. He has broken his promise, but no more.

Only years of experience lets him read the shock in Severus' face. He drops to his knee and bends his head in submission. The sight makes him grimace. This is the final proof that he had lost his mind, that his boy felt the need to bow before him like a commoner.

"Riase," he commands.

Severus raises his head only. "My Lord?" he asks tonelessly.

"Tell me Severus, are you still loyal?" Now is not the time for subtlety and word games. Slytherin he may be, but bluntness can serve it's purpose as well.

Obsidian eyes stare at him for a long moment, weighing his words with care. And then he obviously decided to play the game for he asks, just as bluntly, "That depends. Am I speaking to my Lord? Or am I speaking to the monster?"

He cannot help the delighted smirk that forms on his face. He has no desire to. Yes, this is exactly what he needs. "If I were the latter, you would surely be in danger by now."

"I have been living with that danger for some time now," is the dry reply.

He inclines his head. "And you have weathered the storm well. Now it is time to return home."

"Gaius," Severus says and he nods.

"Come, sit," he motions to the chair beside him, "Tibby," he calls.

"Yeses Master Riddle, hows may Is help yous?"

"Wine and two glasses," he orders.

"Yeses Master."

It is not until the elf comes back with the wine that Severus takes the offered chair. He carefully takes the filled glass, but doesn't drink yet.

He takes the other one and sips at it gracefully. "I do believe several apologies are in order."

Severus raises an eyebrow. "And you are stating them?"

"No, I have not sunken that low. But I do acknowledge that they are required."

A small smirk plays the edge of the others lips. "As I suspected," he murmurs before finally sipping the wine. "Nor would I believe it if you were to do so."

He acknowledges the comment. "Tell me, what is more shocking? My return to sanity or my returned looks?"

"The nose is certainly an improvement," his youngest snarks at him.

"Yes, it is certainly a relief to have one again. Not that I particularly realized why I missed it when I returned. Do you suppose the shock of it all will cause a stir?"

"Lucius will be thrilled."

"Ah yes, our dear Lucy, I am sure he will be," his smirk is pure mischief. "I believe our pretentious peacock will be most delighted he will no longer have to suffer the indignity of my wand. Or my robe," his nose scrunches in a most inelegant manner, " _I_ am delighted. How more of you did not abandon me, I am unsure. It either attests to your loyalty or your cowardice."

"You feel no anger?"

"Of course I do. I am furious. But logically, I understand what a position I placed you in. As you said, I was a monster, not your Lord. Not that I believe I will convey that to them too soon."

Severus chuckles. "You are attempting to make one of them faint," he says rather than asks.

"I have to get my entertainment some way."

"Come Gaius," he chides, "do try not to give any one a heart attack just yet. They do have their uses besides their entertainment value." But he knows Severus does not mean it. Not with that particular glint in his eyes.

He laughs. The name Gaius goes back to a rather unfortunate meeting with rather too much wine where the topic of names was brought up. He had already taken the name Voldemort, but Severus told him he sounded about as pompous as Lucius when he used it. Therefore they took it on themselves to come up with a new name. Roman names were selected and Gaius was chosen after much debate. And also after they vetoed Caesar, Augustus, and Octavian for being too ostentatious.

So he just grins rather sharply instead.

Severus snorts. "And that is how I knew there was hope, when you came back," he says, almost off topic.

"Oh?"

"You still called Lucius a pretentious peacock."

He smirks. Yes, Lucius was one of his more entertaining members. His reactions were so much fun to drag out of him. Especially when he tries so hard to put on airs in the Circle. He was a deadly opponent, make no mistake, but he had a lovely sputter as well. "Is that the only way?" he asks, curious.

Severus raises an eyebrow. "It is not as if you gave us much more than that. Most did not even see that as a sign. As you will recall, your sense of humor grew more... acidic towards the end."

He grimaces at the mention, but doesn't deny it. At the time it had seemed like a brilliant plan. Looking back however, told another story. He doesn't reply to the barb. "And just what exactly has my favorite been doing during those years?" he changes the subject in an unsubtle manner.

"Trying for flattery now are we? And when has that ever worked?"

"It works, you simply aren't as obvious about it as Lucius."

"Merlin forbid," he draws as he takes another sip of wine, "And what makes you believe it will still work?"

"Have you turned into a Gryffindor in the past months or so?" he asks sweetly.

"There is no need to be insulting."

"Well, then, that is how I know flattery will work. Although that does not answer my question."

Severus gives a careless shrug that he knows is any thing but careless. "I have continued the work."

"And what work is that?"

He scowls. "Do not play Gryffindor with me, it is not convincing. The original work, the goals and reforms for our future. Or do you forget?" he raises an eyebrow in challenge.

He inclines his head. "Teach our culture at an early age. Recategorize magic to include a portion of what the Ministry has deemed 'Dark Arts'. Formulate better protection against muggle discovery. Protect muggleborns and half-bloods from abuse. Build magical orphanages," he lists.

"Notice how 'become immortal' was not originally included."

"You realized then."

"After an incident three years ago, yes. It does explain quite a bit."

"You are angry," he comments.

"Now what would give you such an idea?" Severus asks sarcastically.

"The look of murder in your eyes might be a hint. But are you blaming me? You know who I am, are you surprised? Shocked I would go so far? Violence and insanity are a family trait."

"But not _that far_ ," he snarls, "Not so far as you lose sight of what matters. Not so far that you forget what is important."

"Really, there's no need to sound like a Hufflepuff."

"Damn sentiment!" he thunders, standing up, "This has nothing to do with that and everything to do with what you had become. I no longer recognized you. When did the quest for power become immortality? How did splitting your soul achieve anything but terror and violence? Power is fine when it is tempered by sanity – or as much as you ever had. Dark does not mean evil, but now people are sure it does. You became the monster under the bed. The terror of the night. You would have brought ruin to us all had you not been stopped."

He looks at his heir, eyes blazing, color brightening his cheeks, fierce sneer in place. This is why he is favored. The Circle may be his family, but his youngest is his son. It is he that is his most loyal, his most trusted. He who will never back down in the face of his anger. Although that isn't quite true. Not in the past months. Not in the end. "So that is why you did not find me," he comments mildly.

"Gaius had been dead some time before you were," he answers bluntly, angrily. Hurt.

He sighs. He deserves this. "And so you broke away."

"Yes."

"You went to the old fool?"

"Yes."

"You betrayed me?"

"You betrayed yourself. I assure you, I did not go to the old coot because I hold any form of affection towards him. Bloody meddling imbecile," he growls, "I went to him because I knew the Potters would listen to him. He would listen to reason or at least as much as I needed."

And here is a very delicate issue that needs to be addressed. "And yet I still killed her."

Severus nods sharply.

Yes, Lily Potter nee Evans. The childhood friend he lost when he sided with the Dark. The one who he still loved. The one he promised to spare. The one who died instead of stepping aside. "She refused to move."

"And that is suppose to comfort me?"

"No, it is to tell you that even then, I did try."

"You shouldn't have went after them to begin with. I did not bring you the prophecy for you to act on it. Have you never heard of self-fulfilling prophecies? You deserved it."

"Have I fallen that far in your eyes that you can say that without regret?"

"My life has been filled with broken promises and absent protectors. What do you believe?"

"That you are more wounded than you will ever willingly admit."

He doesn't respond, just continues to glare hatefully at him. Yes, the sharp edges of his youngest are enough to kill a troll. Always an island unto himself, lashing out to protect himself. Even he himself felt his claws in the beginning. Trust is not something he gives easily.

"What of the others?"

"Others? To whom are you referring to?"

"Those who helped you. Surely you were not alone."

He snorts bitterly and looks away. "This family much resembled my biological one in the end."

"Oh?" he inquires, knowing it isn't going to be pleasant.

"As you changed, so did we. Hiding from muggles became massacring them. Muggleborns became mudbloods. Prueblood supremacy became the rule. Who would listen to the outcast half-blood? Even one favored by the Dark Lord. He was gone and they were not. Obviously they knew best."

"And none stood by you?"

"Most were in Azkaban. Those who weren't were quick to claim Imperius and continue on. No one was who we use to be. They saw my switch as betrayal. None thought it for the best. None saw anything wrong with who you were and those who did kept their mouths shut. Who would listen?"

"And so you continued alone."

"I am no politician. I continued what I could. Hated by one side, mistrusted by the other. It was not as if I was not accustomed to the position."

The desire to take his heir into his arms is strong. For all that he is cold and Dark, he is not heartless. And right now it is screaming at him to comfort the wounded creature in front of him, glaring defiantly, daring him to reject him as well. Approach is not wise logically, but his stunted emotions do not care. This is his boy. _His_. He is the one responsible for him, both physically and emotionally. "Soldier on," he murmurs softly. It is what Severus is good at. His life is a battlefield. A fight he can never win.

He stands up and instantly, as expected, the other is on high alert. As he slowly approaches, the tension builds. As soon as he is in touching distance, there is a wand trained on his heart. His eyes have a wild look to them.

He stops and carefully does not move. He is under no impression that his youngest will hesitate to curse him. "Yet again you were left behind," he says, "After I promised never again, you were. You were mine and I left you with the wolves."

The wand does not waver from its position.

"Even after I returned, I was not back. I did not care. So you continued as you were. But now, are you with me now?"

"The monster is gone momentarily, but is he lurking in the shadows waiting to return?" his tone is sharp, mistrusting.

"No."

"And how am I able to trust that? What keeps you from turning again?"

"I once promised you always. Now I will Vow it, if that is what it takes," he says, completely serious.

Severus' eyes widen at that. Both of them know this is no idle promise. To Vow it is the ultimate form of trust and willingness. For who Vows on something that could kill them? Who plays that lightly with their life that they would Vow on empty words? Even the most idiotic wizards do not offer this frivolously . Or at all.

He nods.

"I, Gaius Marvolo Riddle, do hereby Vow on my magic that my goals are once what they were. I wish to achieve change, not massacre. I strive no more for immortality but power and reform. I am Dark, but I am not evil. So mote it be."

A flash of magic blinds momentarily and then vanishes. It is only then that the wand is lowered, but not sheaved. Some of the wariness is gone, but not all. It is a step, a large one, but not enough. Not yet. It will take time and effort. But it is a start. He is able to lay a comforting hand on his heir's shoulder and that is a good start indeed.

"You have yet to tell me what you have actually continued," he mentions and feels the slight jerk in response.

"What of the boy?" he asks instead.

"Boy?" He has no idea who he is referring to. What boy?

"Lily's boy. Harry Potter. What of him?"

Ah, of course, _that_ boy. "Sins of the parents are not reflected on the child."

"And yet it was the child who is hailed as your killer."

"Are you suggesting the boy is responsible?"

"No, but the Wizarding World does. And you have targeted him more than once."

"You care for him? More than just as the son of a lost love?"

"He is one of mine," he says and here is the defiance again. The challenge to take issue with it. To revert and curse him. And he knows that tone of voice. He knows what it means, what was left unsaid.

"He is a Slytherin."

A nod.

"He is not just _one_ of yours. He _is_ yours."

His youngest does not correct him, just continues to stare. Yes, just as he has a favorite, so does Severus. It is interesting who he has picked.

"And yet before you cursed the very name of Potter."

"He is not his Father."

"That did not seem to matter before."

"Those who do not change do not survive."

"True. Now tell me why without your pretty words," he orders sternly.

"As we once were, so is he."

It is still not a straight answer. Still vague. But the meaning is clear enough. Yes, that does make sense. It explains much of the fierce protectiveness in his gaze. He knows that his heir will fight to the death for one he considers his. And now Harry Potter is his.

"The boy is yours, I will not take him from you."

Another nod.

"I do not fancy another death quite yet," he teases.

His boy smirks viciously. It is then the wand disappears back into his holster.

He takes the final step, resting his forehead against the others', Hufflepuff sentiment be damned. They stay like that for a long moment. Yes, this is a start indeed. He pulls away, grinning sharply. "Now, to work. What shall we begin with?"


End file.
